A Royal Toast
by NuitNuit
Summary: Prompt written for People of Thedas DW comm Valentine's Day fic exchange.  Amell attends Alistair's wedding and shares a drink with Teagan.  Rated M for stuff.


**AN:** _This was written as part of a Valentine's fic exchange for the People of Thedas dreamwidth community. The prompt was: write something spicy with Teagan in it._

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Cybil's head tilted, her chin rocking back as she peered up at the night sky with dark eyes. It was deceptively serene, not a cloud above obscuring the glistening shine of the stars. She'd looked upon those stars many times in her life, peeking through the narrow windows of the tower, the foolish wishes of youth falling recklessly from her lips.

The romance novels she squirreled away in her trunk spoke of knights in shining armor always coming to the aid of damsels in distress. She'd dreamed of such a man coming to her rescue, freeing her from the clutch of the templars and the oppressive rule of the Chantry. Each night she would whisper her desires to unhearing ears and cling to the notion that her time would come. Fairy tales did come true even for mages.

For some time, she thought perhaps they really did. His armor was not extraordinarily shiny but that hardly seemed to matter at the time. He was everything she could have hoped for and more – a shining light within a dark cloud of duty and despair.

They were to be together forever, no matter what. Cybil never expected the _no matter what_ to have arrived so soon and by her own doing. The marriage to Anora had been her idea. As Anora seemed to have no issue with a political union, Cybil felt this was the best arrangement for all parties involved. She got have her cake and templar too. Unfortunately, she had been wrong and nothing could be done about it now. Whatever future she had thought was there for her with Alistair was stillborn; never to be.

Her chin lowered, eyes casting their gaze from the skies above down to the party below. The nobles of Ferelden celebrated the marriage of the new King to the old Queen. All around the Palace laid reminders of the Blight and the civil war the country had just begun to recover from. Inside the palace walls, all seemed to be forgotten; smiles and laughter drowned out and smothered the ghosts and burning embers of the past.

She shook her head at the celebration, immune to the gathering's infectious optimism. She'd had enough for the night and was ready to withdraw to the solitude of her rooms. In the morning, she planned to leave. Grey Warden business drew her away, or so was the excuse she clung to and told others.

As she turned and looked toward the doorway leading into the interior of the palace, she found a familiar figure standing beneath its arch. A shoulder pressed into smooth stone, arms crossed contemplative over his chest, Teagan stood there in observation of her. An almost apologetic smile spread easily across his lips as their eyes met. "I did not wish to disturb you," he offered, pushing away from the frame to bow slightly at the waist.

"I was just leaving," she explained.

"I was hoping you might have a drink with me." A bottle of brandy held within his grasp was uplifted in gesture.

A drink sounded almost pleasant. To be numb, to see the world through alcohol hazed lenses if for a short time was welcomed as she advanced toward Teagan, a hand outstretched ready to take the bottle from the man. "I suppose I could stay." Her eyes narrowed slightly upon him, a question coming to mind. "Why aren't you with the rest of the guests?"

A playful gleam colored the blue of his eyes. "I saw you up here and thought there was no other place I would rather be."

Cybil gave Teagan a sidelong look. There were lines and then there were _lines. _

He chuckled softly at her disbelieving expression and shook his head lightly. "You don't believe me?"

"No." The cork from the bottle was removed with minor effort. Cussing wasn't the only skill Oghren had taught her. Uncaring, she let the stopper fall to the ground at her feet and began to walk back to the balcony's edge. Her head crooked to motion to the gathering below. "There are far more interesting people down there."

Teagan followed her and sidled up next to Cybil along the railing. "I can think of no one more interesting than the Hero of Ferelden."

The title 'Hero' tasted bittersweet to Cybil, though. A hero but at what cost? She had saved Ferelden and the futures of many who would not have had one otherwise. What had she given herself, though? Wynne had spoken to her of sacrifice and, at the time, Cybil shrugged off her advice as the prattling nags of an old woman. She had not realized just how right Wynne had been until it was too late and all was already lost.

In his words there was honesty, however. Something genuine was behind the curve of his lips. Teagan never struck her as the type to offer empty platitudes.

Her head canted to the side, brown eyes drifting over his features. When they first met, she had thought him handsome and then thought nothing more of it. Alistair already had stolen her heart even if he was not aware at the time. But, until that moment, she had never realized how handsome Teagan really was. There was an aged quality to his face, time only serving to enhance further his attractiveness.

And she could have been wrong, but…

Cybil had never been good at coquettish games, not for lack of trying. Sly winks bestowed upon a hopeful suitor came off more as if an eyelash had fallen into her eye that she blinked furiously to be rid of it. The slow and sensual lick of the lips appeared more exaggerated than necessary. She'd given up those little ploys and instead opted for the direct approach, finding it a far more comfortable. "Teagan, are you hitting on me?"

Almost as if her very question was an invitation that had yet to be voiced, Teagan edged closer to Cybil, and took the bottle back, letting his fingers linger upon her hand, straddling the fence between too long and not long enough. Since Alistair, no man had touched her like that, even as brief as it was.

He drank a small bit of the brandy and then offered the bottle back to Cybil. "And what if I am?" He turned to the side, resting a hip against the balustrade. The corners of his mouth tugged into the slightest of grins. This was a man used to getting what he wanted and, Maker help her, Cybil was begging to believe that was her.

Teagan really had the worst timing, did he not? There was no denying the sensation that fluttered within her belly. An all too familiar prickle of excitement started to wisp to life. As the gravity of Teagan's presence began to make its demands upon her, shame sought to douse the flames of her attraction to the man. The guilt came more out of habit than necessity, though. She'd grown so used to the idea of one man in her life, of _that _man in her life, now that he was hers no longer she had to readjust and learn to cope.

Knuckles whitened as she squeezed the neck of the brandy bottle. Liquor helped with these sorts of things, right? Her lips parted, allowing the brandy to flow into her awaiting mouth. As she swallowed, the warmth of the liquor helped untangle the knots of her discord.

Many a woman must have lost herself within the sway of Teagan's stare, she thought. The bold familiarity in the way he regarded Cybil was enough, she was sure, to make even the most stalwart of women feel just a little uneasy upon their feet. It certainly did her. Wit failed her, the only response she was able to muster in return to his question, a simple, "Just checking."

He took the bottle from her once again, but did not drink. Instead, he bent to place it upon the floor of the balcony, freeing up both of his hands. Opportunity was seized the space between them narrowed as Teagan positioned himself behind Cybil. Leaning into her, his mouth found the slope of her ear. His breath was warm and still touched with the scent of the liquor. Cybil stiffened for a moment, not at all prepared for the brazen familiarity of the roving caress that traveled along her hips and the velvet of her robes. "You've had a boy. I had thought perhaps you might wish to try a man," he whispered huskily.

Any resistance she had to the idea of what she was sure to come faded away at those words filled with cavalier confidence. How had things turned so quickly? One moment she was swimming within the waters of self-pity and the next she was drowning within swell of growing desire. She relaxed against him, allowing herself to ride the wave of want crashing down upon her. As she felt the flick of his tongue against her ear, her breath held in, chest impossibly tight. Slowly, she exhaled, eyes she was not aware had closed, reopening.

"A man might be nice," she murmured as she turned to face him, letting her backside and palms rest against the railing for support. There would be no backing down now. Cybil was committed to the cause.

A single corner of Teagan's mouth curled upward impishly. "I assure you, it is." In another man, Cybil thought such a statement might merit a roll of the eyes and a shrug of the shoulders. Bragging bravado and nothing more on the man's part. Somehow, though, she just knew that was no empty boast by Teagan.

Their lips met in what started as a ginger kiss, a teasing of mouth against mouth in mere taste. But, as she felt Teagan's hands sink into her hair, pulling her more urgently against him, their kissing increased in fervor and a dam of something long repressed let loose. All the anger and loneliness she'd felt since the Landsmeet fueled her, forcing the shift of her hands from the railing to Teagan's waistband, forcing the movement of her legs as they ensnared Teagan between them.

He had other things in mind, however, pulling away almost as quickly as they had begun. Cybil gasped, the air she breathed stolen with the withdrawal of his mouth. "Teagan," she managed, her tone begging, her gaze imploring.

He pressed a finger to her lips, bidding her to be quiet. Her lips pursed, pressing against the digit, so desperately wanting to take it inside her mouth only to be denied as he drug it first down her chin, neck and the center of her chest. The trail was slow, blazing shiver fire along her skin and she just wanted to be rid of her robes already.

They would be going nowhere, at least not yet. Teagan's plan began to become clearer to her as he kneeled upon the floor, hands dipping beneath the folds of fabric of her robes. She let out a breathy whimper as the tip of a finger ran along the outside of her small clothes. If he had not known before, he knew now the effect his attentions were having on her.

She felt his fingers hook along the tops of her smalls, tugging them down the line of her thighs, calves and eventually over her boots. He dropped the garment upon the ground freeing his hands to reverse their previous path, feeling their way up the line of her legs, pushing her robe up in the process. The air felt cool against her bared skin, an involuntary shudder quaking her body.

Teagan's lips spread into a self-satisfied grin, seemingly pleased with himself and he had every right to be. He'd gotten what he came for and Cybil was more than eager for what was to come next. She peered down at him and imagined what she wanted to happen. His hands rested upon her thighs, thumbs tracing in achingly slow circles. She wanted to feel the glide of his fingers inside her. She wanted to feel the touch of his tongue. By the Maker, she wanted Teagan Guerrin. But, she said none of those things and rode the crest of anticipation as it fluttered across her skin.

The bottle set upon the ground was retrieved. Cybil's head tilted curiously at Teagan. A drink? Now? Yes and no were both answers to her question. "A toast to the King," he murmured. In a slow trickle, he poured a bit of the brandy along the top of her thigh, letting the liquor slick against the skin only cleaned away by the flick of his tongue. He was toying with her, she was sure of it, an interlude before the main act. And yet, she did not mind.

He paid equal attention to her other leg, letting the brandy pour along her thigh. The buildup was exquisite and agonizing simultaneously. She did not have to wait any longer, though, as his mouth shifted directions. His head nestled between her legs, his tongue spread her, causing her to let out a heavy sigh kissed moan and hands to grip furiously at the railing beneath her.

Legs hooked over his shoulders, pinning him against her, hips rocking forward as much as balancing would allow. He rewarded her enthusiasm with the slide of his finger and she was sure she would fall backward and off the balcony.

She did not.

It had been so long since she'd felt a man's touch in this way, her body responding desperately, hungrily to each stroke of his finger and sweep of his tongue. Her breathing quickened, her head rocked back, teeth biting at her lips.

She was on the edge, teetering so close to the brink. A final push, a small nudge was all it would take and she would be completely undone. The leather of her boots dug into Teagan's back, her legs widening as much as possible under the constraints.

Everything tensed. The foreshadowing warmth of her release blazed deep within her core burst in a surge of white heat. She panted, suffocating upon the low, want-fulfilled cry brimming upon her lips. He lingered there, sending her body into spasm as he slowly licked. When she ceased trembling, her breathing more even and a smile spread contented across her mouth, Teagan slowly disengaged himself from her.

He rose, hands already pulling the skirt of her robes down, covering her. "Your room or mine," he questioned, his forehead pressing against hers. "I suggest yours as it is closer." He did not bother asking her if she wished to continue.

There was no need. Neither of them was done with the other. This man well deserved his reputation and she was far from through toasting the King. "Mine."


End file.
